UBI CARITAS ET AMOR. DEUS IBI EST.
UBI CARITAS ET AMOR. DEUS IBI EST.
Monday, 5 August 2019
The Case Of The Mystery Crime - Part 4
The next morning I was awakened at eight o'clock by the phone ringing. It was Mrs Scrivener. She was totally distraught and crying. Her pretty Polly parrot was missing.
I got out of bed quickly and in my hurry to put on my trousers ... ... ... by the way ... on Wednesdays I put my left leg in the trousers first. I tend to alternate which leg I put in every day starting on Mondays ... Mondays left ... Tuesdays right ... Wednesdays left and so on. Anyway, in my hurry to put on my trousers I almost injured myself with the zip ... don't you hanker for the olden days when trousers at the front had buttons? Those were the days of elegance and style and fashion that spoke volumes for an era now long gone. These days you have zips up front with all their inherent risks; or you have those elasticated trousers with no opening at the front which, allegedly, make one look sporty. You see many people wearing them when they go out running in the streets in the name of keep fit. But they're not very convenient when you want to go in a hurry, if you see what I mean! Modern people also have those fancy watches on their wrists which count how many paces they have run and what is their heart beat and others things besides. The doctor gave me one of those watches once. I wore it and sat there watching TV. Every few minutes it reminded me to breathe.
Anyway, in my hurry to put my trousers on and zip with no injury, I tripped on my shoes and banged my face against the dresser. This started a nose bleed. It would not stop. I had blood all over my shirt and trousers. I held a towel to my face and walked downstairs backwards in case I fell. I reasoned that if I missed a step I would fall forward and be up a step rather than down the lot of them.
Five minutes later I discarded the towel and ran down the street to Gardenia Avenue.
When I arrived at Mrs Scrivener's house the police was already there. It was the same two officers.
It transpired that Mrs Scrivener had gone to Edna's next door the previous night, and having left the door open again, and had one too many sherries with Edna, she spent the night there. In the morning she discovered Polly gone - that is the bird was missing and not polygon which is a geometric shape.
I pointed out to the policeman that there were red feathers on the floor indicating a fight had taken place.
He said sarcastically, "Thank you Sherlock Holmes. Did the feathers fall during the struggle or did the bird take his feathers off before starting the fight? You know ... like taking your jacket off?"
I did not reply.
He then asked me, "And where were you between the hours of 9 o'clock last evening when Mrs Scrivener left home and 8 o'clock this morning?"
"Eh ... I was in bed ... not all the time ... at 9 o'clock I was watching a film on TV ... it was on channel 3 and it was a Western ... can't remember the name ... but it had that actor who appeared in Last Days of Pompey ... and that beautiful Italian actress with big lungs ... can't remember her name either ... but I was not looking at her name at the time ... the film finished at about 11 or so ... then I had a shower and went to bed ... until this morning that is ... although I did get up in the night once to go to the bathroom ... and ..." I just mumbled on. Why is it that I keep on talking when I am nervous and in a panic?
The policeman interrupted me, "Can anyone vouch for your whereabouts?"
The policewoman sniggered again and hid her face with her hand. I was getting a little annoyed about her attitude. It's one thing being professional and another treating me with disdain.
"Yes ... yes ..." I mumbled, "my family can vouch for my whereabouts although they went to bed early ... about 10 or so. They watched Dowton Abbey in the kitchen and then went up leaving me watching the Western in the living room!"
"Leaving you ample time to come here and kill the bird!" he interrupted again, "that's why you needed a shower!"
"Oh my ..." cried Mrs Scrivener, "my poor baby Polly!"
"Tell me ..." the policeman asked again pointing his pencil at me, "is that blood on your shirt and trousers? I wonder if it is bird's blood. What do you think?"
"I think you are totally mistaken," I replied angrily, "this is my blood. It happened when I fell this morning in my hurry to get here ..."
"Did the bird get the better of you in the fight?" he asked as the policewoman sniggered again.
"I said it is my blood," I cried, "if you don't believe me you can get it analysed!"
"That will not be necessary," replied the policeman with a smile, "I believe you. If it was the blood from a fight here there would be traces on the floor; but apart from a few feathers there's nothing. Besides, there's still some blood on your beard! This blood is still fresh. If it happened in the fight last night it would have been washed off in the shower; and you would not be that stupid to come wearing the same shirt. No ... you're in the clear ... for now! Don't fly the nest though ... stay in town where we can find you!"
The policeman then proceeded to interrogate Mrs Scrivener.
Was the parrot in the habit of leaving home for long periods without saying where he was going?
Had he ever left home before?
Was his absence out of character?
What was his mood and temperament in the last few days?
Had there been any change in behaviour or eating pattern?
Had she had any disagreements or arguments with the parrot?
Was he in the habit of disrobing his feathers?
Eventually Mrs Scrivener having survived the interrogation as if she was the culprit burst out crying.
The policeman asked for a recent photo of Polly which they could post in their missing persons Notice Board. As he was leaving he said, "One more question Mrs Scrivener ... do you like Kentucky Fried Chicken?"